


I Will Take Grief

by SpaghettiCanActivist



Category: Supernatural, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Logan is okay with kids, Mutant Powers, dean is 15, sam is 11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 23:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaghettiCanActivist/pseuds/SpaghettiCanActivist
Summary: At the age of thirteen, Dean kills a motel manager, it's not the why but the how which scares him the most. Two years later, scared by the things he can do, Sam turns to his brother. John tries to protect them in a world where mutants are hated. Fate brings them into the company of Logan, a man who's lived many lives, and it is up to him to keep them alive.





	I Will Take Grief

June 1991

At thirteen Dean was too little to go hunting with his father. Sam clung with bitter desperation to his older brother, the innocence that accompanies ignorance destroyed by a shotgun and their father sternly explaining about monsters. Not that Dean completely minds, there’s a sense of haunting fear which squeezes in his chest when he thinks about killing monsters, when he thinks about things like shtrigas and werewolves.

Dad is in Tallapoosa county stalking down some sort of monster, he wouldn’t give names or details, just thrust money into Dean’s hand and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder with orders to stay safe and ‘take care of Sammy’. He tells Dean he’ll be in Fishpond and Our Town, leaving them behind in the Bob White motel in Alexander City.

Dean doesn’t mind the place so much, it’s not that bad. They’ve got a KFC across the street and there’s a movie theater not too far, if they stick around long enough Dean could probably sneak into the second Terminator. The only thing he doesn’t like is the motel manager.

He’s an average looking man, late forties, his head is balding and he wears oversized tortoiseshell glasses which hang on his neck by an eyeglass chain. He wears large pullover sweaters that are always an autumn color. He wipes his hands on his jeans regularly but the thing Dean notices most is the way his eyes linger on Sam. They look about plenty, they do, landing on the glass doors, on John as he orders a room, briefly on Dean, and then on Sam in a way which makes Dean feel both nervous and angry. 

It doesn’t matter so much, they’ve got tap water, a plug in coffee pot, enough canned food and instant ramen to feed them for months, and cable. They won’t need to go out for a while. However, basic physical needs met, Dean can do little about his brother’s antsy behavior, or his own for that matter, by the second week. So Dean concedes and they walk the V-shaped path of the motel and head across the street to the KFC. Sam is ecstatic, Dean feels uncomfortable about disobeying the implicit orders John left.

Several days pass and they keep going out, Dean’s unease fades and he fails to notice the way the motel manager somehow always shows up minutes after they head out of the room.

Then one night, Sam insists on going to the ice machine. Dean’s in the middle of watching the Simpsons and he doesn’t want to miss Bart’s next scene so he gives Sam a dismissive ‘yes’. Ten minutes later and the show is over. Sam isn’t in the room.

Dean panics, because he remembers the shtriga. His throat is tight and he barrels out of the room feeling like he can barely breath. He races to the ice machine in the main lobby and sees Sam backed against a wall by the motel manager. Sam is crying and he sounds terrified.

Something snaps and Dean screams, running forward and wrapping his hands around the man’s bicep. He wants to destroy and the anger and hate seems to pull together, a storm which builds and builds until he feels a strange sensation burgeoning in his chest. It bursts out and the man stumbles back, eyes rolling and his body starting to twitch as he barely stays on his feet. Instinctively, the power swirling chaotically in him, Dean raises his hand and his fingers curl, the desire to hurt the man manifesting itself.

The motel manager collapses to the floor, body going into a full on grand mal seizure. Blood pours from his nose and the whites of his eyes are the only thing Dean sees. Finally, his body dies and all that Dean’s power does is make his limbs twitch grotesquely.

“Dean.”

Sam’s sob pulls Dean from his high and the anger disappears to be replaced by terror. Dean turns and pulls Sam into his arms.

“I’m scared De’n,” Sam mumbles, still crying.

Dean grips Sam’s hand and pulls him back to the room. They lock up in there, climbing into the closet with all of the blankets, Sam wrapped around Dean like a limpet. Dean sobs and Sam tries to comfort him.

The next morning Dean makes Sam promise to never say anything ever to their dad. Sam keeps his promise.

May 1993

Dean frowned as he watched Sam writhe on the blankets next to him. John got a two-bed room again and Dean was sharing with Sam. Barely eleven, Sam hadn’t grown much yet. It bothered Dean, but at fifteen he didn’t worry too much about health.

Rolling out of bed, Dean moved over to his duffle bag, glancing about to see that their dad had already left. Sam was still in the throes of a nightmare. Dean tossed his deodorant on the bed and grabbed Sam’s shoulder, shaking it.

Sam didn’t wake up, sweaty and face creased with pain and discontent from whatever he was dreaming of. Dean frowned.

“C’mon Sammy, let’s wake up man,” Dean whispered, shaking Sam a little harder

Sam shot up, eyes wild and roving the room. Without a word he threw himself on Dean, clutching his brother close. Dean patted Sam’s back, allowing Sam to use him to calm down. 

Sam finally pulled back, wiping surreptitiously at his eyes and the few tears there. Dean gave a final nod and stood back up, grabbing his deodorant and going back over to his bag. He began rummaging in it, looking for a t-shirt and clean underwear.

“Bad nightmare?” He asked, back turned.

Sam’s reply wasn’t the usual stuff nosed ‘uh-huh’. Sam was quiet instead. Dean looked over his shoulder from where he was squatted in front of the duffle bag. Sam was staring at the bed sheets, hands clenched and thoughts very very far away. It worried Dean.

Dean sniffed, standing up and setting his shower stuff to the side. He didn’t exactly want to get into the details, reason being that there are so many nightmares now that talking about them didn’t really help, but it seemed like Sam needed it.

“You, uh, you wanna talk about it?” Dean asked awkwardly, a hand reaching up to brush through his hair in a nervous tic.

Sam’s eyes flickered up and Dean was unsettled by the solemnity in them. Finally though the almost foreign expression gave way and Sam was teary eyed again and nodding his head.

Dean sat on the bed, nudging Sam’s leg with his knee he had propped up.

“Alright squirt, spill.”

Sam nodded again.

“I-I saw something,” he said quietly.

“It’s a nightmare, you see stuff,” Dean said dismissively, but still, Sam’s tone made him feel uneasy.

“It was Dad, he was fighting a ghost. It was this lady, she had short brown hair and blue eyes and she’d died trying to kill her baby in her, she was mad at other ladies and she was trying to kill Dad,” Sam suddenly looked up, eyes wide and imploring. “She hurt him Dean.”

Something about it made Dean feel wrong, because Sam’s nightmares were usually about more abstract things, they weren’t this strangely specific. Sam continued.

“She threw him back and he hit his head,” Sam paused to show Dean exactly where using his own head as reference. “And then she clawed him across the face.”

Again Sam showed Dean.

“Three lines, the big one right across his nose,” Sam said seriously.

Dean gulped, giving a tight nod. This was starting to freak him out.

“Then he shot her with rocksalt and she hurt him again, she threw him and a piece of metal stuffy cut his side,” Sam pointed at his side.

Sam was quiet then. Dean shook his head, feeling way too spooked.

“Don’t worry about it Sammy, it’s just a nightmare.”

Sam’s eyes cast away as he gave a nod of his head, a sign of disbelief. Dean patted Sam on the shoulder.

“Dad’s fine, just wait and see.”

OoO

He hadn't heard his real name in a very long time. To hear it slip out from a pair of terse lips, those calm eyes settling on him while thin hands stayed clasped in reserve on the lap, it irked the hell out of him.

Professor Xavier looked older than Logan remembered, he was bald now for one thing, and his eyes, though as calm and intelligent as Logan remembered, weighed heavier than before. The wheelchair wasn't new though.

“It's Logan,” he spat out, wishing the air could snatch back his real name and bury it under the piles and piles of corpses, memories and years which stood behind him.

“Please James, forgetting our pasts is never wise.”

This served to piss Logan off even more. He'd just quit his job doing bouncer work. He was holed up in some shit motel right outside Cincinnati. And now he had an unnecessary pain in his ass mutant trying to sell jacked up ideals and morals to him.

“How the hell did you even find me?” Logan said, quickly cramming on his socks and boots.

Charles Xavier had just walked in, or rolled in rather, and it seemed he didn't care that it was too early in the morning, that a private room was private, and that the last time he'd tried to recruit Logan he'd gotten a very nice no thank you, fuck off please. Logan thought he'd been pretty clear.

Professor Xavier said nothing, lips pursing into a tinge of not disapproval but instead disappointment. Like he'd expected greater things from Logan. 

Logan stood up, boots laced. He moved over to the flimsy chair and desk where he'd thrown his t-shirt along with his bag and jacket. He pulled on his t-shirt.

“You keep harassing me old man and I'll have to do something to get you off my back,” Logan's threat was half black humor half serious.

Professor Xavier's head inclined just so and a small look of guilt flashed over his face.

“Fuck,” Logan said, yanking on his jacket and snagging a cigarette from the half empty carton on the desk.

“How many you got with you?” Logan was kind of pissed.

“I'm here to talk to you James, not force anything.”

Logan bit the cigarette too hard between his teeth and the packaged cancer stick tore. He tasted the bitter flavor of the tobacco before pulling it out of his mouth and throwing it on the floor. He yanked another from the carton, anger mounting and the animalistic sense of panic that flooded him when he felt trapped.

“It's Logan, you want to talk, use my name.”

Logan, without looking back, began cramming clothing and the few objects he'd fished out last night back into his bag.

“Of course,” Xavier conceded in a soft voice. “I merely wished to inform you that the property I have is welcome to you, as it was before. We have great need of teachers, individuals who can offer empathy to the students.”

“Not a teacher,” Logan cut in, finishing packing his bag.

“Please, there are many who could benefit from your help. You know better than many the struggles of those genetically gifted.”

Logan had thrown his bag over his shoulder, the unlit cigarette in his mouth and eyes dulled and apathetic to pity and idealistic ventures.

“Find someone else,” Logan said, striding past the Professor and out of the motel.

Two adults, a man and woman, stood outside making a very unbelievable pass at being casual. They eyed him with poorly veiled contempt and hostility.

“Fucking stooges,” Logan muttered, loud enough that they could hear.

He ignored their dirty looks and climbed into the ‘72 Chevy pick up truck he'd jacked back in Wisconsin. He crammed the keys into the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot. He peered momentarily in the mirror to see Xavier's wheelchair bound figure set between his two lackeys. Teaching? He didn't even like kids. No fucking way. 

OoO

Dad came back from his hunt the next day. Dean went pale when he saw the three cuts on his face, just as Sam had described them.

Sam was sitting at the table doing his history homework so he didn't see. Dean was grateful for that.

“Dean,” John said roughly, voice low and subdued from exhaustion and pain.

His hand hovered over his side for a split moment, a wince slipping past his facade as he stepped into the room. 

“Dad, what happened?” Dean said, keeping his voice low.

Sam heard anyways.

“Dad? What's wrong?” Sam sounded worried, homework forgotten.

Dean grimaced and John also looked like he didn't want Sam to see him so beat up. 

“Nothing buddy,” John reassured, smiling as Sam approached.

Sam didn't look reassured.

“Dean,” Sam said, sounding scared and a hand reaching out to clutch Dean's jacket.

“Sammy, it's fine,” Dean wanted to curtail his brother's inevitable freakout.

He also wanted to keep this from their father. He'd seen the news, mutants were feared, condemned, beaten, mobbed, they were monsters in the eyes of normal people and Dean would never let anyone, let alone their father, look at Sam like that, not if he could help it.

“What's wrong?” John of course immediately sniffed out that something wasn't right.

He looked worried and the pain was thrown off quickly, eyes sharpening.

“Dean it's true, it happened-”

“Shut up Sam,” Dean cut him off.

“What happened?” John asked in alarm.

Sam was terrified though.

“Nothing!” Dean shouted, torn between his hysteric brother and his increasingly worried father.

“It's not! It's not!” Sam cried.

“Don't bullshit me Dean!”

Dean was freaking out, he roughly grabbed Sammy and sat him down on the bed.

“Breathe Sammy, it's fine, everything's fine.”

Sam gave a quick nod. Dean turned and saw that their father was seeing past his panic to the situation.

“Dean,” he was speaking in a much calmer voice now. “Explain.”

Dean gulped and gave a shaky nod.

“Sammy had a nightmare.”

John looked surprised, the worry bleeding away.

“That all?” He asked lightly.

Dean shook his head. 

“Dean,” John was worried again, a lot.

“You hunted a ghost.”

John blinked, obviously not expecting that.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “But I didn't tell you that.”

“It was a woman, she killed her child. She was killing other women.”

With each word John’s face grew pale and his lips tightened. He flung a hand out to grab a chair.

“Dean,” he said, breathless and a warning.

Dean glanced back at Sam who was staring at the floor, toes pressed against the carpet to support his legs, his arms were wrapped tightly around his middle. He licked his lips, gulped hard and shifted on his feet. Their dad would ask, he would prod, this couldn’t be left alone.

“How do you know this?” John asked.

Dean opened his mouth to lie.

“I saw it, in my nightmare,” Sam’s soft voice beat him to it.

Dean felt the fear he’d been battling the last two years, since he discovered his own powers, were extended to his brother. He’d spent two years terrified of what his father would do, what he would say.

“Dad, he didn’t-”

“Is that true Sam?” John cut Dean off, eyes settled on Sam, grave and intense, and to Dean’s dismay, entirely indecipherable.

“Yessir,” Sam replied, voice shaking.

John gave a ponderous nod, feet shifting. Sam ducked his head again, eyes starting to pool with tears. John gave another nod and stepped forward, he knelt down in front of Sam, a firm hand coming to land on the top of Sam’s head.

“Sammy, look at me,” John commanded.

Sam looked up, tears pouring out.

“It’s okay son, we’ll be okay.”

Sam let out a sob as he nodded his head. John’s hand moved to the back of Sam’s head and he drew his son into a hug.

Dean watched, frozen, standing to the side. John’s eyes slid to him. He mouthed the words ‘it’s okay’. Dean felt his own tears draw up, their dad was okay with it, with Sam being a mutant, with everything. He took a shuddering breath and went to sit down on the couch, taking Sam from John so his father could stand up on weak legs and go to the bathroom to clean up from the hunt.

OoO

John was taking a break, a couple months to figure out the whole mutant thing with Sam. He’d originally thought it might be supernatural, but the nightmares continued and no text John searched in gave him answers. 

Mutants were a taboo subject. People mentioned them when they talked about crime and evil. Sam was not evil, his little boy was not, and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him otherwise.

So they went to Kentucky, where a small family support group for parents with mutant children gathered. John had called Bobby and gotten the address from him. It was small, funded by a non-profit medical group who was looking to give parents the best advice and support to raise mutant children. The government so far was still bumbling about mutant laws, the group hadn’t been shut down.

They got there in time to hear about how it had been disassembled by county vote. That left John with nothing. He pulled the Impala into a gas station, letting Sam and Dean get out and stretch their legs. There was an ‘89 Audi, a mini van, and a ‘72 Chevy pick up truck. A group of teenagers were grouped around the Audi and the owner of the truck was in the store or bathroom. 

John headed into the store with ten bucks. He put it on number three and cast his eyes at the selection of candies. He considered getting something for the boys but decided against it, they would stop at lunch somewhere else and Dean liked pie better than a candy bar.

When he turned his head to check on his boys, what he saw had him dashing outside.

Dean hadn’t liked the look of the boys, but he figured if he ignored them they’d be fine. Sam however, trying to help Dean clean the car, walked over to their side to grab a squeegee. Dean had been cleaning the front windshield when he glanced over at Sam and saw the boys talking to his brother, stances aggressive.

Immediately he was headed over.

“You okay Sammy?” Dean asked, stepping in front of his brother and glaring death at the kid heading the group.

Sam said nothing, but the teenager’s attention was on Dean. They stood the same height, Dean more muscled and filled out, but the kid was older and cock sure.

“We got a problem here?” Dean asked coldly.

“Yeah, we do, this rat here is trying to take our squeegee,” the boy said, a predatory grin on his face.

The other boys were behind him, eyes focused in on Sam and Dean like sharks in bloody water.

“It’s not yours, asshat, so back off.”

Sam stepped forward, past Dean.

“Dean, it’s fine, they can have it,” Sam said, offering out the squeegee.

The teenager smirked before grabbing Sam by the shirt. Dean was on him in an instant, sucker punching him in the face and pulling Sam back behind him. It broke the calm and the other boys surged forward. Dean took out the first two but a third tackled him to the ground. The world dissolved into punching the kid on top of him, then flipping him and punching and getting tackled by another kid.

Then he heard Sam cry out in pain. Anger and desperation swooped in, it settled in his gut and and began to build. It was distantly familiar, a power that was accompanied by fear and confusion. Without forethought and without much control, Dean let the power grow and then release. There were screams and he heard his father’s voice shouting. He didn’t hold onto the power, he let it die and then rolled onto his stomach, head coming up.

Looking out from a swollen eye, blood pouring from his nose, Dean searched for Sam. Sam was on the ground. The teenage boys were on the ground, the one nearest to Dean had his eyes rolled back, whites showing and he was so still it scared Dean.

“Dean!” John was there, hands running over Dean and the pulling him up to a sitting position.

“Are you okay?” John asked, voice firm and commanding.

Dean gave a lethargic nod. John immediately stood from his half kneeling position and rushed over to Sam. Dean rubbed his head, there were other voices, turning to look he saw a group of people in front of the gas station store, a couple more were walking over from the restaurant adjacent to the gas station. The crowd of people scared Dean, their looks of fear and horror causing his stomach to curdle. He’d used his powers.

“Dean.”

Dean turned at his father’s voice. Sam was standing next to John, John’s arm supporting him. John looked scared, John never looked scared. Dean looked again at the bodies of the teenage boys. They looked dead, maybe, Dean felt nausea rise and he was turning his head, vomiting onto the concrete.

“He killed them!” A woman’s voice sounded out from the small crowd.

Dean shook his head, Sam was staring at him, a large bruise forming on his jaw. Dean stood up and went over to his father, feeling unsure and worried.

“Boys,” John said in a low voice. “Get to the car.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and started to walk that way, legs trembling and his head spinning. A police officer appeared though and Dean came to a halt, Sam kept behind him.

“He’s one of those freaks,” a volunteer stepped forward, coming up beside the police officer.

John whipped around, taking in the new threat and marching over so he stood in front of Dean.

“What happened here?” The police officer asked, eyes going to the teenage boys.

“Nothing-” John started.

“They killed them,” the man who’d stepped up interrupted.

The police officer glanced between John and the bodies, wariness and fear flickering in his eyes.

“With powers,” the woman from before piped up.

“Sir, your son is going to have to come with me,” the police officer stated.

The Officer’s car had been in the lot by the restaurant, but his partner had pulled it over.

“Call it in Creedy,” the Officer called.

John looked between the two Officer’s.

“Look, this isn’t what you think it is,” John kept trying to defuse the situation.

“Your son is going to have to come with me,” the Officer demanded, stepping forward and starting to grab Dean. 

John punched him, knocking the Officer back and to the ground. The man was unconscious. The other Officer came sprinting over, drawing his gun. He levelled it at John.

“Sir, sir, step back please.”

John raised his hands.

“Look, the kid didn’t do anything,” there was another voice, a man who had come up behind John and his sons.

He was rough looking, a worn leather jacket pulled over flannel while sporting an intense set of side burns. The gun was immediately pointed at him and away from John.

“Lies, I saw the boy do it,” the man from before spat out.

“No, no,” John said stiffly, hand held up. “It was me, okay, the kid did nothing wrong, it was me, I’m the mutant.”

More police cars were arriving. John took a step away from his sons.

“I saw these kids fighting, so I did something about it,” John said, glancing at Dean and giving him a silent signal to keep his mouth shut and go along with it.

The police officer seemed to buying the story. John glanced back at the man who’d intervened on their behalf, a pleading looking in his gaze.

“Yeah, these are my kids,” the man said, giving John a nod.

Five more police officers gathered, roughly cuffing John and shoving him into a police car. The man hovered near Dean and Sam, answering questions and finally getting the police to leave them alone. An ambulance came for the teenagers, no body bags being pulled out, and finally the gas station returned to silence.

Dean, who’d kept Sam protectively under his arm the whole time, turned to face the man.

“Thanks,” Dean said, feeling shocked and numb, trying to figure something out.

“No problem kid,” the man replied, hands shoved in his pockets and face set like stone.

“Thanks sir,” Sam whispered out, peering up at the man.

The man’s jaw worked and his eyes went to the ground as his lips twitched.

“That your old man?” He asked.

Dean gave a nod. The man gave a nod.

“You got anyone I can call?”

Dean shook his head.

“No mom? Grandma? Aunt?” The man listed, slightly incredulous.

Dean shook his head again.

“Alright, well,” the man scratched the back of his head. “I’m Logan.”

“Dean, this is Sammy.”

Logan gave a curt nod. His eyes wandered the empty gas station and moved over the only two cars remaining. His truck he’d lifted a while back and a sleek muscle car.

“That Impala your dad’s?” Logan asked.

“Yes,” Dean was eyeing Logan with mistrust.

It was quiet a good minute, Dean keep Sam near him, one eye now swollen shut and Sam’s jaw purpling into a huge splotch which took up nearly half his lower face.

“I’m going to get you back to your dad,” Logan promised.


End file.
